“Who is your teacher?” I was asking this question to Greg. He goes to the same language school as Jessie and I, and we all live together in the home of a family in Antigua.
“Rafael,” he replied. I did not know him.
“What does he look like?”
“He is a short Guatemalan guy.”
“Does he have a mustache?”
“No, but he drives a motorcycle.” My roomate had just described roughly half the population of Guatemalan men.
Nearly all of the men in this country are short, and a large number of them drive motorcycles. Roughly half the men in this country have mustaches, or bigotes, and if you don´t already have a one, you are probably in the process of growing one. You don´t need to be an ethnographer to figure this out. In the states, if you have a mustache you either drive a ferrari, work in an adult business, or played professional baseball in the ´80s. I have never seen so many mustaches in my life. To have a bigote here is practically a duty of national service.
I saw what I think is Guatemala´s greatest mustache in Antigua´s parque central. It is dark black, thick, extremely well groomed, and sports a slight curve at its edges. It is fully pronounced and covers the entire length of the upper lip it rests upon. Its owner is one of several men you can find working the parque central shining shoes nearly every day of the week. He walks with a slight limp and carries a black box and miniature stool that look reminiscient of something you would find in a rudimentary shop class where the assigment was to make a wooden mailbox. The box carries his supplies - shoe polish, brush, cloth – and doubles as a footstool for his customers. He is one of several men who work the park regularly, clamoring to shine shoes for a nominal fee. These men tend to keep quite busy. Antigua is a dusty town, and there are quite a few pairs of shoe that could use some cleaning.
Several times a week, Jess and I will sit in the parque central reading, writing, or studying spanish. Most of the time we get distracted people watching. Parents and their children stroll past foreigners and locals resting on any of the number of green metal benches evenly spaced throughout the park. Spanish language students meet to talk in their native tongue. Children chase flowers falling from the trees that provide a canopy of shade from the afternoon sun. In the center of the square rests the fountain, where sculptures of women pour water from their breasts into the pool below. People flock to have their picture taken next to it. Nearby, photographers with Polaroid cameras linger, hoping to take visitors pictures for a small fee. To the east is the cathedral. On the weekends tourist groups gather to listen to locals tell varying versions of the city´s history. Small Mayan children absentmindedly wander throughout the park while their parents attempt to sell ice cream or woven goods nearby. To the south is the tourism office and a goverment building where troops with large machine guns can be seen walking about. The other two sides of the square are surrounded by tiendas, cafes and several banks. In the middle and end of the months, long lines the entire length of the north side of the park form. The lines are mostly full of Mayan women waiting several hours to cash checks for as little as five dollars. On the perimeter, 50 horsepower motorcycles rev their engines alongside horses waiting to give children rides. At night teenagers court each other on benches where the lights do not shine as brightly.
The park is a smattering of Gringas and Guatemalans alike (Gringas = fair skinned and fair haired people, and is generally a friendly term in Guatemala). Antigua is the hub of Guatemala´s tourism. Its cobblestone streets are home to Dutch, German, English, American, Korean, Canadian, and many other nations of people here to see the ruins, study spanish, bargain in the markets, or seek an introduction to this nation. I am told that not that many Guatemalan people actually live in Antigua, most people just work here and live nearby. For the most part this seems to be true. But every day, we all meet in the parque central. And for at least a little while we are all visitors, all tourists, all here to see something new.
- Josh, roughly February 17, roughly Sunday
